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He called it Iron Mercy, a rather theatrical name for a drug that prevented his decay from progressing any further and kept him from looking like a typical ghoul. It wasn’t a matter of vanity for him… he simply wanted to buy time and not walk around with open wounds that would never heal. Apart from that, when he was seen as a human, he was generally less conspicuous, although his reputation in the Wasteland had already preceded him anyway. The serum also ensured that his mind wouldn’t decay and turn him into a Feral. Sometimes he wondered why this was so important to him.. it would be pleasant to shed the memories of the last 200 years, to forget so much… But it would also rob him of his true, inner core, and that was the only precious thing he had, in a sense. Knowledge was power… that wasn’t a rumor, and he had fought hard to acquire that knowledge over all those years, which was why he’d been able to create this serum, a legend among his peers, because he was far from ready to share it with others, not out of selfishness… but out of caution. The stuff was contained in a matte-black inhaler, barely larger than an ordinary vape. Narrow, neon-magenta lines ran across the casing, while a bright-green skull on the front looked like old graffiti. He raised the inhaler to his lips and took a deep drag. A warm, metallic-sweet vapor settled in his lungs before the familiar warmth slowly spread through his body. The burning in his wounds subsided, his vision cleared, and the incessant whispering at the edge of his mind fell silent for a while. Just a few more days, and then the certainty that he’d have to set out again in search of the ingredients.
The last remnants of the vapor dissipated into the dry air before he tucked the inhaler back into his jacket. Instead, his gaze fell on the Pip-Boy strapped to his left arm. That clunky piece of Vault-Tec technology had never belonged to him, he’d taken it many decades ago from a long-forgotten dweller of the Wasteland and had since left hardly any part of it as it had originally been. The original transmitter had been replaced, the operating system overwritten multiple times, and some functions officially didn’t exist at all. Bounty missions didn’t appear via any network, but rather via encrypted frequencies known only to a few. Most people considered the Pip-Boy to be junk. A brief crackle broke the silence, the screen flickered, then a new message appeared. High priority. ..there was no name, instead, just coordinates and a sum of bottle caps large enough to pique his interest. He raised the corner of his mouth almost imperceptibly. That finally sounded like work.
He eyed the image, which flickered greenish and blurry suspiciously for a moment. Killing a man from the Brotherhood was never just another job. Someone would be looking for him... someone would be asking questions, a narrow grin flitted across his face. “Tin cans are my specialty… let’s see which can opener I’ll have to use on you.”
He set off, roaming the wasteland with ease, for he knew what to look out for and could venture into areas where the radiation would be instantly lethal to any human. The coordinates led him to a region that must have been used for military purposes long ago. This was evident from the concrete bunkers half-sunken into the ground, rusted antennas, and a watchtower that defied the ravages of time with stoic arrogance. Nature had long since begun reclaiming everything, black roots broke through meter-thick concrete, dead trees wound their way around old fences, and even the wind seemed to sound different here. It was astonishing how many places had been abandoned after the Great War and yet were never truly deserted. Some were inhabited by looters, others by feral ghouls, and still others… by memories. The bounty hunter didn’t believe in ghosts, because the living were far worse. Slowly, he let his gaze wander over the terrain: a burnt-out oil lamp, a half-decayed Brahmin that not even the flies were feasting on anymore. Only then did he spot them, footprints that clearly came from one of those ridiculous steel power armor suits. The Brotherhood still seemed convinced that two metric tons of steel could make up for any lack of common sense. They invested vast sums in armor, marched noisily through the wasteland in it, and then wondered why everyone already knew they were on their way. Maybe that was exactly their tactic… to dazzle the enemy with metal until he forgot that underneath it all was just a human being with a rather small brain.. and if one were to fully embrace the cliché… other body parts might also have been a little on the small side. Be that as it may...
The trail ended among the remains of a half-collapsed hangar. The old steel skeleton was marked by the ravages of time. “I know you’re there.” His voice echoed through the hall, sounding almost bored. A metallic clatter could be heard before a T-60 suit of armor stepped out of the darkness. The Brotherhood’s emblem still adorned the shoulder plate, though it was marred by countless scratches and hastily painted symbols. “One more step and I’ll blow your head off, Ghul.” The redhead sized him up for a moment, then his gaze slowly wandered over the armor.
“That’s coming from the very man who voluntarily locked himself inside a walking pile of scrap.” The knight raised his weapon. “You’ve obviously never learned to respect the Brotherhood.” Poison gave a wry smile. “Yes, I have...but you guys really make it hard.” The shot cracked through the hall and struck the spot where he had been standing just a second earlier. The ghoul had already dodged to the side, disappearing behind a collapsed concrete wall and sending the next impact into a cloud of dust and rusty shrapnel. “Impressive,” he called dryly. “Can you even hit anything that moves?” An angry growl emanated from the helmet, that was exactly what he’d been hoping for, patience had never been a virtue of the Brotherhood. The knight set off with a heavy gait, every step made the ground tremble slightly as the servomotors struggled loudly against the weight of the power armor. It was almost cute.. somehow, the whole thing reminded him of an aggressive refrigerator. “Stop right there! In the name of the Brotherhood of Steel!” Poison raised both hands in the air for a moment. “Oh… so now comes the official part? I thought you guys always shot first and asked questions sometime later, somewhere between arrogance and overconfidence.” The next shot struck so close to him that concrete dust trickled down his shoulder. “There we go.” With one fluid motion, he vanished behind a collapsed pillar. The power armor followed him without hesitation, nearly plowing through the concrete debris and getting caught for a split second between the twisted steel beams. “You guys are truly fascinating.” He stepped out from cover, drew his yellow revolver, and his shot hit the exposed hydraulics behind the right knee. The power armor jerked to the side as the knight cursed, trying to regain his balance. “Wait a minute…” Another shot, this time at the joint between the shoulder and the neck ring, sparks flew, cables snapped, and the helmet slid up a bit with an ugly crack. “You… you’ll regret this, you irradiated…”
“No.” The ghoul stepped closer slowly, “If anything, I regret that you never upgraded your armor. Two hundred years… and still the same weak spots.” He stopped right in front of the motionless steel colossus, looking through the narrow gap directly into the man’s eyes. “You know… I never hated you... I just always thought you were incredibly overrated.” A final shot silenced the helmet, for a moment, there was absolute silence, then he bent down, tapped the breastplate with his knuckles, and listened to the dull sound. “Well… guess it wasn’t power armor after all.”
As proof that the mission was complete, he looted the knight and took his dog tags, aside from that, he took the fusion core and the knight’s weapon, with things like that, you could create an incredible number of things, or you could trade them in. With a quiet sigh, he adjusted the collar of his jacket and continued on his way. Behind the irradiated hills, the sun was slowly setting, bathing the sky in an unnatural green that mingled with orange and the last remnants of a spent day. Almost beautiful… in that twisted way that only the wasteland could be beautiful. His thumb wandered over the Pip-Boy until the familiar crackle of the radio sounded. A moment later, a lively melody filled the desolate wasteland. Cheerful voices sang of a world that had long since ceased to exist, a wry grin flitted across his face. The world might have ended two hundred years ago, but the soundtrack was still damn good. Without looking back, he disappeared among the ruins, accompanied by a cheerful radio song that didn’t seem to fit the ravaged landscape at all.. but that’s exactly what felt so damn good.
Fallout - I Don't Want To Set The World On Fire.